The Perfect Game (GxG) (cliffhanger/completed)

Six: After English

Nani Cazetti

"You sure?" I ask her, I'm sitting next to Jessica, in the seat that Gomez assigned me last week, and I feel like my heart is beating out of my chest. I watch her intently, damn, she's beautiful. She's got this color scheme going on. Contemporary colors, a stale blue Hollister t-shirt, a gray scarf and nice, very tight, blue jeans. With her, apparently favorite, shoes Toms. They're red. And they completely throw everything off and I'm seriously confused on why she chose those shoes when I see her nod her head.

"Yes, I'm sure," Jess is stuffing her backpack, "besides, where are you going to go, Safeway?" Ouch. The bell rang about half a minute ago and the freshman are piling in, staring at us hard. I feel a tug on my hand as I glare at a girl with glasses who is texting furiously and glancing up at us every tenth word or so. "Come on," harder tug.

I get up slowly, realizing that she's holding my hand as she guides me through various aged teenagers. We're downstairs now, almost to the commons when she turns around, "I parked in the front today." She drags me through more kids, some our age, some not.

A voice calls from the vending machines, "Hey, where are you two going?" It's Sam, a mischievous grin spread across her lips. She's clutching her cheer bag, digging through it, probably looking for money. "Jess, cheer practice is cancelled today anyway, so have fun," she winks, then glances up at me, "football on the other hand..." Shrugging, she hobbles away.

Jess looks up at me, as we head through the front doors of the school, "hey, I wanted to ask her during cheer tonight, but, y'know." She shrugs as she unlocks her car; it's about fifty meters in front of us. I hear the Bentley start, the exhaust steaming through the rainy morning, that's a bit over the top. "Why does Sam limp?"

I stop, shocked, "Jess, you can't just ask people why they limp." I watch her, why does she need to know anyway? She's laughing, why is she laughing? "You should go back and ask her." I shove my thumb towards the school.

She shakes her head, slowly pressing down on the gas and turning away from the school, "Nah, I'm good, I just figured, y'know, it's something I should know." She turns right on to SK Road. I watch as the rest of the school creeps by at fifteen miles per hour. There's a dump trunk in front of us, and I'm getting road rage. I'm not even driving. The truck continues forward as we turn right onto 6th, usually I would keep straight as well, I love 6th; it reminds me of my childhood. Eventually we're passing the middle school. "Besides," the sudden noise makes me jump, "I don't know her that well, y'know? That'd be, like, majorly awkward."

6th turns soon into College St, I have no idea what she is talking about. "Uh huh," I say while tracing a state title patch on the sleeve of my letterman. "Totally." Jess pulls into Shell gas station; I can see multiple people staring. Boy, do people stare a lot. She gets out, smiling, and presses a button on the dash, smoothly, the roof of the car slides backwards. And I am exposed. I hear whispers, or at least I think I do. I glare at her, but she isn't looking. Dammit.

After filling the tank, she floats back into the leather seat, and speeds out of the gas station, making an immediate right back onto College St. "So," she says, keeping her eyes on the road, "what do people do when they skip school?"

She took off the scarf back at the gas station, and now I can tell that the blue shirt is rather low, and rather distracting. I almost choke on the air I was breathing in, tearing my eyes away from her chest. "You've never skipped before?" Amusement and shock in my voice, I know I shouldn't be shocked, but I am.

Jess takes a sudden sharp, obviously last second, left turn. "I have to return those books about E. E. Cummings," she explains. I see the hopeful sign of St. Martin's University, and I am suddenly very sad. I push away the feeling and focus on Jess. She's so beautiful with eyes that have the right to make a big deal out of themselves. I love the way she bites her lip as she drives. "Why are you staring at me?"